1oo Ways
by bellmaree
Summary: A fanfiction1oo setup. I am not going in order. Newest fiction: #o33: Too Much. Anna/Georg.
1. 87: Life

It was quite unfair. No, Anna thought it was entirely unfair. The adults were ruining everything, much as she hated to admit it. She knew everyone was hurting now, especially Martha and Melchior. And neither of their parents cared- visibly, anyway. Of course, Anna's mother and father knew she was calmer now, a little more insightful. They simply wanted what was best for her, to protect her, and she understood that perfectly fine. She didn't mind at all. They loved her dearly, and that was all that mattered.

But it was most ridiculous; how many of the girls knew more than two lives had ended that season? Most, if not all, didn't know Wendla was with child when she died. (Anna only knew because Melchior had shown the boys a letter, and Georg had told her in private about it.) Melchior's and her child would never grow up to know the promises its parents had made, had wanted to keep. And this was what saddened Anna most of all. She sighed. This never-to-be child - they hadn't even known if it was to be a girl or a boy! - wasn't going to have the life its parents had wished it to have.

All of it made Anna want to cry. It sickened her that she was at all, even remotely jealous of Wendla; it was obviously wrong to want to be someone other than yourself. Envy was a sin. And to envy one who was dead, even! But, Anna reasoned, she didn't like that part one bit, didn't covet the grave and the waxy face, the glassy stare that signaled no thoughts. What she wanted was the intense love Wendla had given and gotten, and her child.

By seeing Melchior break down and cry over Wendla's grave, less dignified than anyone could ever know he'd been, Anna was wistful and lonely. She sat back on her heels, adjusting the back of her long, sensible dress to lie flatter or her curveless body. She drank in the memories, the ones nailed to her wall, those pasted into her photo book, the ones just in her head, and she wondered how that would feel. What one would think when you knew your own existence was a miracle.

Looking out the window, Anna stood up in one fluid motion, hands never touching the floor (a trick she had learned from Thea). It was raining again, she noticed, like it had been, steadily, for the past few days. She saw a figure with his hand held over his head like a small, futile umbrella, his face turning up to see if he could spot someone up where she was. He ran up the steps, he must have seen her, and she pushed open the window, squinting into the sleet down at him. "Georg? Georg Zirschnitz?" and she skidded downstairs as quickly as she could, opening the door. "Are you alright you're soaking wet come inside now," she rushed out.

Taking hold of his coat sleeve with three fingers pressing the cloth between themselves and her thumb, Anna pulled him gently inside. She gave a quick glance around the house, listening closely for her parents, and then closed the door and ushered him upstairs. Urging him to move quickly and quietly, she tiptoed upstairs right behind him, whispering, "It's improper to bring a boy inside my room- my mama would be appalled, but you really need it."

Georg's arms, his whole body, even, were shaking, water dripping from him like snowflakes from a shaken washing-line. When he spoke, his teeth chattered, squared-off pearls in his icebox mouth. "I'm sorry to intrude, I know your parent's don't approve, I tried, I couldn't-"

Anna interrupted him with her still ever-so-quiet voice, "Don't worry, I'll get you something to wear, I'll get you a blanket," and she scurried off and back, fetching one of her father's jumpers and a blanket from the linen closet in the hallway. He started to dry his hair carefully, but she stopped his hand with the butterfly-touch of her own, telling him, "No, you should get something dry on first, I don't want you catching pneumonia." Georg nodded, and shook his neatly-done hair with a sour look on his face, one of a feeling I-really-don't-want-to-be-doing-this-and-it-pains-me-greatly displayed clearly all over it.

Dropping his bookbag from underneath his shirt where it was protected from the rain, Georg said 'Thank you' with his eyes and with his smile, but his mouth let out, "Oh, right, okay." After his sopping school jacket was cast aside, he unbuttoned his top and peeled it off his pale white-blue skin. Both teenagers were breathing as though they'd run in a storm- well, Georg had good reason, as he had done just that. His chest rose and fell, bare and drying for a few solid moments, until Anna shoved the blanket towards him, flushing coral and turning away.

She said, "Better, that's better," pointedly not looking at him, not looking at anything but the solid black insides of her eyelids.

Steadily drying now, Georg looked at Anna with nothing but goodnaturedness in his eyes, a real "Thank you" falling from his lips this time. As he was stepping in front of her so as to face her without having to touch her, she realized they hadn't said much at all the whole time. To her surprise, he quickly stooped and dropped a gentle kiss onto her lips, then grinned.

Something fell into Anna's eyes at the feeling, and Georg didn't know what feeling it was; whether it was anger, happiness, shock, disgust, or what. "Georg, we can't-" Her rebuttal was interrupted into a muffle as he kissed her again, one hand behind his back, the other at her waist. He felt her smile now, into his lips, and he pulled back, picking up his bag, shirt, and coat.

As she watched his half-clad back retreat from her bedroom, something clicked inside her. She smiled wider. Maybe Wendla wasn't worth envying after all.


	2. 81: How?

A swish of a long cotton dress. A melodic hum. A one-two, one-two patter of flat shoes skipping along the road. These sounds all mixed together with nature noises nobody ever noticed- they all made Georg so tense. He felt unprepared, like he didn't know enough to understand it all, and it worried him. It worried him to the ends of the earth. He wasn't excellent at school, like Melchior, or absolutely flailing in the unknown, like Moritz. They, too, worried him.

And the fact that he was always so worried made him worried- it was like the world was enveloped in a sea of concern, and it was his job, his given task, to think about it and think about it and think about it until he couldn't stand it anymore. And Georg really couldn't stand it anymore. His mind had one track, and like a horse running races it just kept moving in circles, going over things again and again. He was becoming paranoid, and he knew it had to stop.

"How?" was the question and "Why?" was the answer. How could he stop tiring himself out before he went clinically insane? Why he did it in the first place was a wonder and a solution at once. Once he figured that out, he'd be able to rest well, sleep soundly, and think clearly. Too much thought and too little sleep would get him nowhere; learning required sleep. Georg couldn't afford to lose any brain cells; he needed them all for piano and Latin and Greek and maths and literature… it all became a blur again as the subjects all swirled around in his head.

He came back to the noises outside. Pacing frantically and restlessly around the room, he slid one hand over his face, pressing in his features non-exclusively. He had a headache. Maybe a walk and some fresh air would help him some.

Dashing down the stairs, Georg loosely but dutifully yanked on a jacket and pounded the ground with his feet as they propelled him to an unknown destination. It shouldn't be too far, because his mot- NO. No more thinking, no more minding what other people would do, what they would say when he got there. The unknown was the best thing for him right now, and he had to stop his racing mind from worrying about everything and anything.

Dizziness swept over him- maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all, forgetting that strenuous activity made him weak. Georg swayed and staggered back, propping one hand against a tree to steady himself. He closed his eyes and took even, steady breaths. "What are you doing, Georg?" a sweet, childlike voice asked with the upturn of an impending laugh tacked onto the end. Trying to mask the fact that he was frightened out of his wits and was gathering them up mentally like a child who dropped his marbles, he replied calmly, "Nothing." He then turned around to face the voice's owner and blushed scarlet.

Anna. They hadn't spoken since last week, when the rain shut him out of his piano lesson and he was trying to make it home. When he… he couldn't think about it without shivering, the action was so unlike him. The important thing was the feeling, the moment of realization he'd had the minute he walked out her door: He'd done it without thinking. That alone made Anna worth about a million dollars and a summer home.

But really, she was already worth that, Georg thought. "What are you doing?" he added, glancing down at her hands. A basket, oh, yes. The spring showers (or rather, spring monsoons) had indeed brought flowers, berries, and other growing seedlings, as nursery rhymes so long ago had promised. So the question was really unnecessary.

"Trying to find any flowers that would look fine on our mantle and tablepiece," Anna replied and smiled sweetly, her eyes blank of expression but crinkling at the edges to show real interest and happiness at seeing him. Oh, how that face made him want to know whether she remembered, as well as he did, how that felt. For him it was bliss.

Still breathing regularly, he raised his eyebrows with approval. "And how is that going?"

"Well, thank you." It was getting harder and harder to stop thinking about it, and Georg was trying as hard as he could to stay calm and collected. "Of course," he replied. His voice was more strained now, and he took deeper breaths between each word. He watched closely as her face began to show concern, and her lips formed, "Are you feeling alright, Georg?" It nearly killed him to hear his name- that was all he could hear. He turned away and slid down the tree, trying to get his mind to stop looping her face from the week before during that fateful moment.

"Georg?" She kneeled next to him, turning his face with a small, soft hand. He caught her hand before it slid off his face and said, "It's all right, I'm all right." Her palm was flat, facing up in his lap, and he traced the three prominent lines with his fingers, weaving into hers and letting the intertwined hands rest on his knee.

"Georg." It wasn't a question anymore, he noticed. He looked up at Anna, who, at meeting his nervous glance, leaned forward and kissed him full-on, as he did to her the previous week. Georg took her other hand in his own, lacing them together and pulling her to sit next to him. The kiss deepened, and Anna seemed less hesitant. When they broke apart moments later, he whispered, "I think you're just what I needed."


	3. 4o: Sight

Those eyes. Clear, like they're

Searching you for something.

A hint to hide their abnormal

Lack of uniqueness. It's

Almost like they don't fit

Their owner, who is original

In every way. Half-hidden

By pure black feathers of

Lashed, specializing in

Mystery and allure. But

Only if you're close enough

To really notice them.

Dark hair. That middle

Ground between brown and

Black is where the colour

Stands. Its unable-to-be-

Unnoticed curls might

Look weird from far away,

But you get used to them

Eventually. Rarely will you

See them ever disappear.

Skinny, yes. But never

Too skinny, despite all

Common complaints. All

The better to hide inside

Tight spaces with. To

Pull you in and give

You a heart attack as you

Try to catch your

Breath with. All with

That bright smile.

Oh, that smile. Happy but

With that tinge of solemn

Melancholy feeling, you

Always want to hug its

Bearer. When you do, the

Love radiating might

Figuratively give off more

Light than heat, but

You can't feel light

In your heart.


	4. 25: Strangers

Anna sat with her knees pulled to her chest after church on Sunday, waiting for a cloud to pass by so she could feel the warmth of the sun beating against her face. Well, she reasoned as she thought that idea through once more, not quite beating, more like… spreading, or maybe just warming her face. Nodding to no one, she smiled, although the entire silent exchange with her conscience about the very word was morbid enough if one were to remember Martha and Ilse at the same time. But none of that crossed her mind as she stood up. A flicker of confusion and bafflement flashed across her face as she blinked, trying to determine if it was the sun that was making her see the figure of Hänschen Rilow approaching.

Rushing through her mind were trains of thought, rifling through her memories to figure out why on earth Hänschen, of all people, would want to talk to her. He was rather creepy, and the way he carried himself made Anna slightly afraid to talk to him. The two were practically strangers. Her frantic thinking snagged on a peg as she froze at the very thought that he might be coming over to come onto her. _What about Georg? _But Hänschen didn't know about her and Georg.

Though, she thought, he doesn't look too bad; at least he's smiling. This was true. "Hello, Anna," Hänschen said, bobbing his head in what seemed to be a sign of mutual respect. "I was just thinking about something and saw you here. I wondered if you could maybe help me with my… what shall we call it… predicament."

Knitting her eyebrows together, Anna nodded, her face free of any trace of a smile. "Hello, Hänschen. Well, it depends what you wanted to know. What is it?"

Was it just Anna, or was Hänschen looking a little nervous? She tried not to laugh. Of course it was her; Hänschen Rilow never got nervous for the life of him. He simply wasn't raised that way, or so her parents told her. "I was only thinking… how do you… that is to say- how does one… attract another? I mean, I know it is rather forward, but most of the girls run from me every time I approach, and the boys I cannot ask. It is quite… difficult, you could say."

The puzzled look still had not left Anna's face as she pondered his question. Did he have his eye on a certain girl? If so, who? Certainly not her, as he wouldn't ask her if it were true. Her fears were eliminated, however slowly, and she spoke aloud. "A predicament indeed. Well, I know Geor-" Oh dear. Her eyes widened and she grabbed hold of Hänschen's forearms, who stiffened. "Tell no one, Hänschen!"

He smirked and shook his head. "It matters not whether you and Georg Zirschnitz are doing… anything… of that sort. What I am concerned with is Erns-" It was his turn to clutch at her arms, his nails all but digging into her skin. "Anna," he said warningly, his even voice still not breaking. He knew he would have hell to pay if anyone found out about his more-than-fondness for Ernst. His eyes were wild and he stared her boldly in the face, and his grip tightened on her threateningly. Fleetingly, she had a vague thought that if he held on long enough and hard enough she might look like Martha.

"Ernst Robel, Hänschen?" Anna whispered, a slight smile barely flickering on her face as if it were to fade away for good. She flexed her fingers to make sure they still worked, like Hänschen's death grip was cutting off the circulation. Seeing the skin under his fingers was turning white, then purple, Hänschen stepped back and mumbled an apology, nodding as if he were ashamed. She almost giggled but didn't out of pity for Hänschen. Pity? For _Hänschen? _"He's nice, Hänschen. Be forward- but don't break him. He's…" she glanced at the faint bruise marks blooming on her arms, close to her wrists, "Fragile."

Hänschen glanced around and swore quietly, a little too colourfully for Anna's taste, and took off at a speedy walk after tossing out a swift 'Thank you.' Anna's eyes whipped around to look behind her, searching for whatever Hänschen was so afraid of. _Oh. _Georg was several yards away, a resolute look on his face, his brow serious. He all but stormed towards her, making a motion so as to grab her arms, but she pulled back at the last second. Georg's hardened face now softened, his evident concern lining his features. It almost made Anna want to go, _Awww._

"What was Hänschen talking to you about?" he said, his stony eyes wondering if she was all right while asking if the now-gone boy had intruded upon anything. Anna smiled softly and touched Georg's chest with her palm, trying to avoid the arm area at any and all costs. Hers were still a bit shaky, steadied some by Georg, who took her hands in his. An incredulous look swept over his face as he eyed the marks on her arms, mixing with obvious shock and worry. He opened his mouth to say something more, but she interrupted him with a quick interjection.

"He only wanted some advice." Anna didn't think that Hänschen would want Georg to know about his… She didn't know the right word for it. She settled for affection, for boys. So she kept that part tucked in her head for thinking-about later.

Obviously, Georg didn't believe her. "No, honestly. I can see- did he do this to you?" He was shaking a little now, anger flashing in his eyes and settling into his face. Anna pulled away from him, mainly to save herself from the harsh grip she knew would come if she didn't. _Is this what Martha and Ilse feel like? _

"It wasn't anything! He was worried, Georg. And I… accidentally… told… him- about you and me?" It upturned at the end, as if she was questioning what they had. "About us."

Georg's face changed indescribably, trying to decide which emotion to settle on. "Why does it matter? We're not doing anything wrong. I mean, sure, we're young, but we haven't… done anything."

"And anyway, he's practically a stranger to me," she finished as if he hadn't spoken, shuffling back towards him a tiny bit. Pulling her towards him, Georg inspected her arms with a careful, determined eye.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, he did, but it's nothing, now please-"

"Did he…"

Shaking her head, Anna sighed. "No, Georg. Even if he did I wouldn't have gone along with it. That's what he wanted advice about. How to capture someone's heart." She didn't want to be too outspoken- what if people told her mother?- but she whispered anyway, "Like you, Georg."

He hugged her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. "And you," he said quietly, tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes. He brushed his lips against hers, pressing them harder for a second before pulling away. "Anna, Hänschen isn't a stranger to me- he will go after you. I'm not letting that happen." Anna disagreed- she saw something in Hänschen's eyes when he started to say Ernst's name- but stayed silent. If Georg wanted to protect her, by all means she wanted him to.


	5. 92: Christmas

"But how are you going to dance with me if you're the one playing the piano?" Anna's face looked gloomily up at Georg's.

The Robels were hosting the annual Christmas party the following weekend, and everyone was invited. The party would certainly be extravagant, and Fraulein Grossebustenhalter had volunteered her star pupil, Georg, to play the piano as entertainment. Of course, he hadn't objected, but apparently Anna had something to say about it. Georg looked at her with wonderment and a soft smile. "Don't be ridiculous."

Anna frowned. "Why is it so ridiculous that I would like to dance with you at the Robels' celebration?" She looked so un-Anna-ish it was almost laughable. Her brow furrowed and her eyes were half covered by her eyebrows, her face was screwed up so fiercely.

Blinking impassively, Georg realized he had misspoken. "No- Anna- I meant that the idea of me _not _dancing with you at Ernst's party is ridiculous." He grinned and gripped her hand for a second. "Don't worry, we'll get our chance."

* * *

Fraulein Grossebustenhalter had practically dragged Georg across the room to the piano nearly the very second he'd arrived with his parents. She pointed to the piano with a long fingernail, gesturing to the double seat. She swept off with a look of 'You must do us proud.' Sighing, he let his fingers trace across the keys until setting them down in one spot. A string of lively notes let out of the piano as he played for a second, stopping only to look around.

He hadn't had the chance to look when he'd arrived, but Georg knew the Robels had gone out of their way to make everything look nice. Their home wasn't the flashiest, but the decorations and lights made everything look even lovelier. The surroundings basked in beauty; lights strung across the walls in a perfect chain, creating a warm atmosphere in the house. Georg didn't know how music could be flowing if he wasn't really playing yet. Before long he realized that it wasn't music, it was the chatter of content guests, their ideas and tones changing smoothly from one beat to the next.

"No, keep going," said Ernst sheepishly, approaching the piano out of nowhere. His face was flushed; he seemed a little embarrassed that his parents had gone to such lengths for the community's enjoyment. A smile sent Ernst's way made him turn around, forgetting for a moment Georg and the piano as he turned around to greet Hänschen.

Georg turned back to the piano with a sigh, setting his hands down again. The notes began to flow smoothly out of the piano, the familiar tune easily produced. He had played this song over and over in practice, so it was somewhat boring to him. His eyes wandered around the room, watching everyone's movement.

Hänschen had his trademark smirk on as he set a hand on Ernst's shoulder, whose characteristic blush appeared at the touch; he glanced quickly around, as if making sure no one was looking. Melchior was sitting in an armchair by where his parents stood, reading something, per usual. Otto was speaking to his mother about something, quietly enough so Georg couldn't even make out a single noise issuing from his lips. Martha and Thea were sitting cross-legged on the floor by the roaring fireplace, munching on cookies prepared with care by Frau Robel. And… there. Anna was standing against the wall, watching Georg watch everyone else.

Gesturing to the empty space in the double seat right beside him, Georg motioned for Anna to sit next to him. Her eyes locked on his and widened. Her gaze flicked to her parents, then to his parents, then back to Georg, who shrugged and turned up the corner of his mouth in a 'Why not?' kind of way. She took a deep breath and quickly moved over to where the piano stood, sliding easily into the seat. When she spoke, her voice was as cheerful and lively as the music he'd played.

"So much for dancing, right?" she chirped, obviously trying to create some sound of happiness in her voice despite the nearly palpable disappointment.

Silently, Georg placed Anna's hands on the piano, resting his on top. "Maybe it's not exactly what you'd hoped, but this isn't so bad." She sighed dejectedly, resting her head on his shoulder as he moved their hands together, playing the simplest tune he could think of.

"I suppose," murmured Anna skeptically, her expression indifferent. It was quite obvious that it wasn't what she expected at all and had automatically decided to reject any replacement of her previous expectations.

Hands clasped hers reassuringly. "I suppose you'd prefer another kind of dance?" Georg's heart rate sped up and he tried to keep it normal as he realized exactly how what he had said could have been interpreted. Anna giggled softly, realizing quicker than he did what he subconsciously meant. Disregarding her parents and his, she pressed her warm lips to his ruddy cheek.

"I'm sure Fraulein Grossebustenhalter wouldn't appreciate that distraction at all, especially even now," she whispered, her eyes still laughing at him.

He made a face. "I'm sure," he said seriously, swiping at her waist with a freed hand. "I need to play, you _are _distracting me." His expression finally convinced her to stand up, smile, and walk over to where Thea and Martha sat. Georg placed his hands back on the keys and began to play once more.


	6. 1o: Years

**This would take place several years- maybe more than several- after the play/musical. They're maybe… what, twenty-three, twenty-four? Just letting you all know so it's not like, what? X] Also, disclaimer: obviously I don't own Spring Awakening, duh, if I did… I'm not going to complete that sentence. XD I own no characters but Sofie, who is probably around four. :3 Also, I know this is really short, I just wanted to get it up for the sake of uploading something new. ^^**

* * *

"Mama, I want a cake." Anna looked down at her child exasperatedly. Her hair was stringy and messy, and her little girl, Sofie, was nipping at her heels again. In the middle of baking for the church festival, Anna didn't exactly have the time or the patience to handle her child right at that moment. She, Martha, and Thea were all baking together as they did every year. It was more interesting and much more entertaining that way. Martha was smiling at Sofie, the softness in her eyes due to her own lack of child, but she continued to mix the batter in the bowl- she was used to her sister's child.

Thea, on the other hand, was sitting in a wooden chair by the simple table with a cup of tea, watching the whole scene play out. Listening to her best friend's child whine, she stood up, setting the cup down on its matching saucer. "I'm afraid you can't have cake yet."

"Want a cake, Fräulein Thea," said Sofie. Her face was set as she reached onto the table where Thea's tea stood on its saucer.

"There's going to be a festival," said Thea. "There's going to be cake. You just have to hang on for a few more hours."

Anna locked eyes with Martha and smiled. They both knew that Thea obviously wasn't clued in on children and time measurement. Sofie pretty much couldn't tell you the difference between the day before and the birth of her grandparents.

"I want a cake."

Thea scooped Sofie up and sat her down on the table, disregarding the precariously wobbling half-full teacup. "Sofie… I know you haven't got your dolls and your friends. And I know everyone's busy and can't play with you at the moment…"

"I hate you."

"No you don't," said Thea.

"Do," pouted Sofie.

"No," said Thea, who seemed to be running short and fast to the end of her rope.

Luckily, Sofie's attention was diverted by Georg coming in and sitting down on the chair that Thea had just vacated. Sweeping Sofie onto his knee, he sighed. "Your parents," he said.

Anna wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to kiss her husband on the cheek. She smoothed her daughter's thin brown curls and tightened the ribbon around them. "What about them?"

"They're…" He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward Sofie.

Martha stood up swiftly, clapping her hands together. "All right, young one. I'll give you two marks and an extra cake later if you can find me in ten minutes." Sofie was gone within the second. Clearly Martha knew more about child management than Thea did.

Laughing a little, Anna took Georg's hand in hers. "What about my parents?"

It was Georg's turn to laugh. Stooping to quickly kiss Anna on the lips, he said, "Nothing, I just thought I'd help get Sofie out of the way. Martha beat me to it." He reached around his wife and took hold of a wooden spoon currently not in use, swiping off the batter with two fingers and depositing it into his mouth.

Anna swatted her husband on the arm. "You're as bad as Sofie. But thank you anyway." She rolled her eyes and turned back to the batter, pouring it into the bowl that Thea was mixing.

"Hey!" exclaimed Thea.

"What?" asked Anna, holding her hands up in weak defence.

"Why did you do that?"

"My husband has my spoon, remember?"

"Right."


	7. 65: Passing

Georg knew that not all suicides were recorded. He remembered vividly a time when Lars Ettelburg mysteriously 'left town.' Lars' parents had said he'd gotten ill and had gone to stay with his grandmother, but his sister Brigitta had told the truth. Hänschen was the one who had eventually told all the boys. Melchior had closed his eyes and rested a hand on Moritz' shoulder- who, in turn, was shaking… more than usual, anyway. Otto just shook his head with a solemn look on his face. Ernst bit his lip, his eyes wide; they silently asked, "Why?" Even Hänschen's trademark smirk had slipped off his face. The girls weren't allowed to know.

But really, all Georg wanted to know was the reason Lars' parents had lied to everyone in town. He made a decision and asked his father, who- after fumbling around in search of the right words- had settled on simply, "It is not the way things are done. I regret their secrecy, but it is just not the way things ought to be done."

And then Moritz had made the same decision as Lars, and the question still stood. And then Wendla died. What was at the root of it all? Lies. Lies, and withholding the entire truth. Which in essence were the same thing to Georg. He now sat on the steps leading up to his house. It was sunny and cloudless, somewhat inappropriate a climate for the topic he was thinking about. "At least they gave them proper funerals."

Anna had agreed. Kicking her heels back and forth, she thought for a moment. "With Lars there was no blame. He was happy, I remember, until… you know. I think, with Moritz, and Wendla, for that matter… I think they tried to ease their guilt by giving it all to Melchior. It's rare that he is so vulnerable, and that made him an easy scapegoat. But really, all they did was almost create another de- de- passing." She lowered her eyes. "Mama still thinks it's Melchior's fault. I know it's not. In a roundabout way, it's sort of hers. The parents, at least."

"My father knows that."

"But does everyone else?"

"I think they do. They just choose not to because they'd rather leave that guilt to someone else, and let them feel it instead of living with their own mistakes like we have to."

They both were silent. Anna turned her face up to look at the house across from Georg's steps, and Georg followed her gaze. There were lacy curtains decorating the open windows across the way. A breeze made them flutter, the lack of glass in the windows allowing air to rush in. The scent of new spring leaves lingered as she leaned closer to Georg. "Have we made a mistake?"

Georg started and looked at Anna with startled eyes. "Beg your pardon?" He couldn't possibly mean what he had heard.

"Melchior and Wendla… I can't imagine… If you and I…" The worry on her face was evident in her eyes, which were tearing up. Tears began to slide down her cheeks, coming faster and faster with each passing moment.

"Do you remember the time when your mama chased all of us out of the kitchen? Every single one of us, all ten. I looked back and it seemed that the parade would never end… of course, that was before Thea moved here. We were six, do you remember?"

Anna sniffled and laughed at the same time. "We all marched out with a biscuit in our hand. I remember." Her hands went up to wipe her tear-red face.

His hand moving to capture hers, Georg's thumb traced the contours of her cheekbone, wiping away the tears before she had a chance to. Answering her earlier question, he murmured, "We won't."

"But they didn't even-" Her eyes closed as she grew quiet, her mouth otherwise occupied. Georg rested one hand on the side of her face, the other at her neck. After what appeared to be moments but felt like several sunlit days, he pulled away.

"We won't," he repeated. And this time he knew Anna believed him.


	8. 33: Too Much

"What do you think, Georg? Is it long enough?" Anna held up a chain of tiny flowers; there were probably about forty in the chain. Her eyes sparkled, despite the fact that one hand was shading her eyes from the burning sun. The weather was blisteringly warm for March, and Anna had dragged Martha, Thea, and Georg out to the flower fields.

Georg coughed gently and lifted his glasses back up to his eyes (he was previously in the middle of cleaning them with the inner lining of his school shirt). He had no idea why Anna was asking him this. It wasn't as if he had any experience with the relative lengths of flower-chains. And anyhow, it wouldn't matter what he really thought, because Anna would beam with exaltation at anything that came out of his mouth. He nodded vaguely and returned to rubbing his glasses.

"I think it might need a few more, Anna," said Thea gently, her toe tapping quickly against a spot of dry, browning grass. Her face was crumpled in concentration, and her eyes squinted against the bright sky to appraise Anna's flower-chain. "Though it depends on what you are planning to do with it. Have you decided yet?"

It was hard to imagine Thea sitting still and thinking for once- Georg had always thought of her as eternally bouncing in place, and he did not quite feel as if that was satisfied in those little twitches of movement. Even he was somewhat restless at the moment, his fingers tapping out another piano piece that he should probably have been learning instead of sitting in a field watching three girls tie knots in the stems of diminutive pink-petaled flowers. Well, two girls, anyway.

Martha was calmly and silently inspecting the end of her braid, moving it back and forth against her palm as if it were a paintbrush and her hand the canvas. Her shoulders seemed to shudder a little, jumping at the sound of Thea's foot making contact with the crunching, dead patch of grass. Anna frowned as she looked at this, she, too, squinting to be able to see Martha properly. "Martha…"

The tallest girl jerked her head up, eyes wild but for a moment, then reverting back to the calm and collected look far too quickly to even be perceptible. "Yes?" she said slowly, her mind palpably weighing the various questions Anna could possibly ask her.

Anna's eyes flicked to Georg for a minute, then back to Martha, seemingly changing tack quick as a flash. "What do you think?" She cocked her head to the side, and Georg was briefly reminded of a canary Otto used to have. It used to sing day and night, only stopping once in a while to turn its head to the side, looking quizzical and quite adorable. It died a few months later. So it goes.

"About what?" Martha said a little too quickly. Georg was beginning to get worried. What had passed between these girls that made each of them- all but for Anna- act so different from their usual behaviours?

Shaking the chain of flowers, which were becoming limper and limper by the minute, Anna asked simply, "Do you think I need more?" She blinked a few times, obviously caring and anticipating an answer. The uncomfortable atmosphere was beginning to be a bit too much for Georg, who was sweating like he never had before in his entire life. The combination of the sweltering heat, his long-sleeved school shirt (even though he was sitting sans coat), and the abnormal female behaviours were beginning to get to him.

"Oh," Martha said, visibly relieved. "I don't know... I think you may need to start over. I think the heat is getting to the flowers." She pointed to one flower near the end of the chain close to the hand Anna was holding it with, that was turning brown and stiff.

"Oh," repeated Anna. She frowned again, and Georg sighed. "What time is it, Thea?" It took far too much effort for Georg to suppress a loud groan. This was worse than the time he had been dragged by his mother to a tea where all she did was comment on what the other ladies at church were wearing, the quality of the tea, and the relative success of their husbands.

Thea shrugged, closing her eyes to block out the sun entirely. "I am not quite sure. Georg, do you know what time it is?" Her foot was still tapping. The patch of grass was flat and completely brown now. It looked much like a parasite, turning the surrounding areas brown as well.

"No, sorry." Anna, Thea, and Martha did not look happy at all. "But," Anna looked up at Georg's addition, "there is something that I would like to know. Why do you do this? You three come out here, Anna practically begging me to join her, yet none of you seem excited or even remotely happy to be out here."

Martha silently sent Thea a look, who flicked her eyes up to meet Anna's careful gaze. Thea opened her mouth to speak, pausing for a moment to consider her words. "I think it was a matter of doing something different. It was getting away from someone, simply getting away, or wanting to be with someone." It was obvious straight away who she was referring to in each part. A familiar feeling settled itself in an area in Georg's body just above his stomach.

"Perhaps we should go inside," Anna offered softly, standing up slowly and brushing off the skirt of her dress. Martha quickly followed suit, followed by Thea. What Georg still didn't understand was why three girls, so different from one another, could possibly seem so alike, especially in a moment like this.

Georg blinked and adjusted his glasses to find that Anna's hand was outstretched in front of his torso. He stood up; dusting off his school pants, he took her hand, still as confused as ever. But at least now it wasn't so much to handle.


End file.
